


The Man With No Name

by Gerec



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Dubious Consent, M/M, Marking, Rimming, Rough Sex, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: <i>Charles belongs to Erik, and when he doesn't behave he is put in the cage of the untamed Wolverine for a few hours or until he learns his lesson.</i></p><p>They call him the Wolverine.</p><p>It’s the only name he knows. He has no memory of who he used to be, or of his life…before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man With No Name

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [XavierineFest2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/XavierineFest2015) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Charles belongs to Erik, and when he doesn't behave he is put in the cage of the untamed Wolverine for a few hours or until he learns his lesson.

They call him the Wolverine.

It’s the only name he knows. He has no memory of who he used to be, or of his life…before.

He lives inside a large cage of reinforced steel, too dense to cut through with his own metal claws. There is a flimsy mattress on the floor and a metal toilet in the corner; a bare light bulb swings overhead that he doesn’t control.

They feed him three meals a day, sliding the same metal tray through a cut out in the door. The food is bland but always filling; they feed him well because they need him fit and strong.

She comes every day, the woman in white, beautiful and blond and warm as the Arctic ice. She commands and he follows, his limbs moving of their own accord, traveling the same well-worn path from his cage to the training pit outside. There is always someone new in the pit, waiting. Someone he has to fight.

He receives no instructions and no demands; there are no warnings to hold back his burning rage. There is only the adrenaline high, wild and visceral with every new person he fights. He thirsts for their blood; lives for the satisfaction he feels when they scream in agony.

The White Queen, they call her - sits and watches, serene and immovable as he breaks the bones of her recruits, spilling their blood on the ground without mercy. There is no pity for the weak. No use for the inept.

There are also no deaths, for the Wolverine is never allowed a killing blow, his mind caged by The White Queen’s powers. He knows nothing but to follow her orders without question; remembers nothing but her voice in his head.

Every day, she comes.

Every day, he fights.

Nothing is new. Nothing changes.

Until one day, _they_ come.

 

x

 

He is laying on the worn mattress, his wounds already healed, still high on adrenaline from the day’s match. There’s time for a few hours of uninterrupted rest before his meal is delivered, and so he closes his eyes, willing himself to fall sleep.

When the outer door swings open it catches him by surprise, and he springs to his feet as two strangers step into the room. One is tall and lean and wearing an ugly purple cape, his steel grey eyes sharp and his expression fierce. The other is shorter and more compact, broad shoulders hidden under a navy cardigan and collared shirt. They do not speak, nor do they look at him, their attention focused solely on one another as they make their way closer, towards the thick metal bars that separate them from his cage. Up close he can smell the stench of sex over them both, sweat and semen still clinging to their skin.

The short one takes a step closer to his cage, pink tongue licking absently across cherry red lips, his eyes a bright and startling blue. He stares at the Wolverine with an expression full of sadness and something else, something so soft that it makes him feel _vulnerable_ of all things – a notion so ridiculous that the Wolverine almost laughs.

“Charles,” the man – the tall and angry one – says, dragging everyone’s attention back to him with his impatient bark. The two men share a long, intense look that speaks to a conversation without words, making the Wolverine suspect that one of them at least is a fucking mind reader.

“Please Erik,” Charles whispers, taking a step closer to the angry one. But his entreaty is all but ignored as Erik pushes past him towards the cage, where the metal starts to unwind like tentacles, wrapping tightly around the Wolverine’s chest and pinning his back to the wall. He snarls and twists to no avail; even his metal skeleton is being used to hold him against his will.

He only stops struggling when the door to the cage swings open, allowing Charles to step inside without a word. Once through, the door shuts behind him again with a clang, as quiet as a gunshot in the silent room.

There is something familiar about the man standing in front of him, a contradictory vision of wisdom and innocence rolled into one. He can make out a light dusting of freckles along his throat and chest, the sliver of pale skin tempting through an open collar. The instinct to claim rages red hot inside him, clamoring to reach out and touch. To rip every bit of the man’s clothes off with his claws, and mark every inch of him with his teeth.

To take him apart and make him scream.

Charles watches him, and does not waver, even as he thrashes and pulls against the metal like a wounded animal. The smell of him, heady and strong, wafts through the cage like a siren’s song, driving the Wolverine into a mad frenzy. It gets exponentially worse – and better – when Charles starts to disrobe methodically, slipping out of the cardigan and unbuttoning his shirt, revealing hidden muscle and miles and miles of unblemished skin. By the time he removes the rest of his clothes, standing nude and still as a marble statue, the Wolverine is drowning, lost in a haze of unbridled lust.

He pounces when the metal retreats with a sudden snap, hand wrapping around Charles’ throat as he drags him across the concrete floor. With a grunt he tosses the man onto the makeshift bed, almost ripping his own jeans to shreds in his eagerness to strip. Charles lays sprawled across the mattress like an offering, his cock half hard, wide eyes tracking the Wolverine’s every move.

There’s a spike of arousal when he lunges, a subtle taste of fear and exhilaration in the air as he yanks Charles close. Rough hands grasp and pull and bruise, drawing ragged moans and pained grunts from his captive. He is drunk with desire for the man pinned beneath his hard body, hungry for the sounds he’ll make when the Wolverine finally shoves his entire cock inside of him.

Moving lightning fast, he grips the slope of Charles’ ass and pries him open, fingers slipping eagerly to test his entrance. What he finds there makes the beast inside howl with possessive fury; Charles is already slick and open, wet and dripping from someone else’s come.

With a growl he rolls Charles over onto his stomach, shoving the man’s face into the mattress and hoisting his ass in the air. He swipes his tongue across the pink and swollen hole, making Charles jolt forward with a startled gasp.

“Ugh, uh,” Charles pants, the sounds like schlocky punches as the Wolverine starts eating him out with lips and teeth. The smell of old semen mingles with Charles’ own scent, the salty taste of his skin addictive as the Wolverine works in and out of him, delving deep. Fingers join his tongue inside a still tight passage, the feast interrupted occasionally by a hard bite to the fleshy globes of Charles’ ass cheeks.

He feels every minute shift in Charles’ body, every hitch of his breath as the Wolverine continues to devour him on his hands and knees. By the time he replaces his fingers with his cock Charles is a heaving mess, keening loudly when the Wolverine buries his entire length inside with one long, agonizing push.

It feels exquisite, so hot and tight, muscle clenching and unclenching as Charles tries to adjust. But the Wolverine is in no mood to wait, pumping in and out immediately with reckless abandon, his hands gripping Charles’ hips hard enough to bruise. He fucks him for what feels like hours, heedless of the man’s pained grunts and high pitched whines; revels in the taste of blood and sweat, leaving bite marks all over that perfect, porcelain skin.

He shifts, and Charles moans, toppling forward as his arms give out, the discomfort morphing into cries of ecstasy. The Wolverine obliges, hammering the same spot over and over and over until Charles shudders, teetering on the brink. He fucks him as Charles comes all over the sheets with a strangled shout, his body going limp and yielding as a rag doll. Fucks him and fucks him until his own orgasm tears through him like a storm, release spilling hot and sticky inside Charles, filling him to the brim.

The metal door swings open with a bang, and it’s only now that he remembers the other man’s presence. The angry one – Erik - has been watching this entire time without a word; has done nothing to stop the Wolverine from rutting Charles into the ground.

“Get off,” he growls and the Wolverine finds his body moving against his will, pulling out of Charles and rolling out of the way. Erik takes his cape off his shoulders and wraps it around Charles, lifting him up and carrying him in his arms, leaving the discarded clothes still strewn on the concrete floor. They leave the room without a backward glance, the door clanging shut behind them once more.

He doesn’t regain the use of his limbs again, until his food arrives three hours later.

\---

The next time, the Wolverine tears the clothes off Charles’ body, and fucks him on his hands and knees. He twists a handful of soft brown curls in his fist, and bites the soft juncture between neck and shoulder, breaking skin and drawing blood when he comes.

\---

The next time, he lifts a naked Charles in his arms and braces him against the metal bars, spreading his legs wide and fucking him open. He is still covered with the marks from their last encounter, and the Wolverine makes sure to add more bruises all over Charles’ hips.

\---

The next time, Erik helps, metal wrapping around Charles’ wrists as the Wolverine shoves him face first against the bars. He fucks Charles from behind, the both of them facing Erik, the stony expression never leaving the man’s face. And this time when Charles comes, Erik is the first to follow.

\---

The next time, Charles rides him, arms bound behind him by metal cuffs. The Wolverine watches enthralled, as Charles writhes above him, his own touch almost gentle and light. He strokes Charles’ cock, eager to watch him come apart, and licks every drop of seed the man spurts across his chest.

\---

The next time, he lays Charles on the mattress, and looks into those blue eyes as he fucks him. Charles wraps his legs around his waist and they move together, the ghost of a memory tugging at the back of the Wolverine’s mind. This time, they come together, and Charles whispers a name against his lips, before Erik knocks him out cold with the metal toilet.

Logan. His name is Logan.

\---

The next time, there is a wet sheen in Charles' eyes as Logan fucks him, his body moving against his will. It’s rough, and he can’t make it stop; he’s fucking into Charles so hard that it makes him sick to his stomach. He comes, and he makes Charles come too, Logan’s hand cold and clinical as he jerks him off.  

When it’s over, Charles presses a kiss to his lips, and whispers, “I’ll find a way, Logan. I promise.”

They leave.

They don’t come back.

 

x

 

They call him the Wolverine.

It’s the only name he knows. He has no memory of who he used to be, or of his life…before.

Every day, he fights. He eats. He sleeps.

Nothing is new. Nothing changes.

Until one day, _they_ come.


End file.
